


Into The North

by JosefAik



Category: His Dark Materials, His Dark Materials (TV), His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman, The Golden Compass (2007)
Genre: Lee Scoresby backstory, Lyra's World (His Dark Materials), Other, Pre-His Dark Materials
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:33:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28324632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JosefAik/pseuds/JosefAik
Summary: Prior to the events of His Dark Materials, Lee Scoresby, the Texan aeronaut, had his own run-ins with the all-seeing might of the Magisterium. A simple visit to Portland, Oregon may spark an adventure the like of which Lee will definitely see again because this takes place before canon.
Relationships: Lee Scoresby & Hester
Kudos: 5





	Into The North

Portland. Oregon. The Federated States of the West Coast. A free territory. 

The balloon was whipped around on the cold winter wind, as if the Authority himself was blowing them off course. Lee Scoresby, the aeronaut, didn’t try to change much, and instead slumped against the cold, metal floor, his Stetson lowered to cover his eyes, as he tried to catch a wink of sleep in the raging gale. He had flown through worse. Heck, he had slept through worse, but something about this time felt different, as if it was more charged, more important. No lightning, no thunder, but plenty of wind and rain. 

“If I was more of a poet maybe I’d say the angels were howling.” Alone, but he didn’t speak the words to himself. Hester, his daemon, hopped her way around the gas cannister an into sight. “You ain’t a poet, though, Lee. It’s just the wind. You don’t want to start sounding like some Magisterium nutjob.” She nestled herself down next to him, her front paws across his legs, her head cocked slightly. “Besides, we’re nearly there. Almost time for descent.” 

A sigh escaped him, and he leant his head back, resting it against the wall, allowing the hat to slip away, and drop to the floor. His hair was greasy today, too long since he last had hot water to wash. How long had it been since Trollesund? Tromso? Crossing the Atlantic had been difficult enough, but crossing New Denmark had been harder than he had expected. New Copenhagen had been overrun with Magisterium, more than since the last time he’d visited, and they weren’t so fond of him right now. “What do you see, Hester?” 

She got up on her back paws and poked her twitching nose through the tarpaulin that protected them from the ravages of wind and rain. She cocked her head as she pulled it back into the comfort of the balloon. “We certainly aren’t the only visitors. Airships, at least three of them. Magisterium.” 

He cursed. They had avoided them before, but couldn’t anymore. They needed the fuel, and it was too dangerous to head any further north in this weather. There would be floods, he was sure. Good they were safe from those in the skies, at least. Another sigh, and he pushed himself up from the floor, cracking the muscles of his neck as he did, and making preparations for descent. “We have to land here. No choice. We can’t go back. Never go back. We land, get the fuel we need, and a bed to sleep. Some scran if we find the chance, and keep out of trouble, got it?” 

“You sure it should be me you’re giving that instruction to?” He let out a laugh then, madness against the raging winds, but uncontainable. The descent was quick enough, and soon they had landed at the aeroport. A few dollars handed over ensured the balloon would be cared for, and a few more for their discretion. The Federated States of the West Coast was a region in its own right, not answering to the kingdoms of Texas or New Denmark, protected from their sights by the Rocky Mountains. They had no kings here, and no currency either. He had never known the Magisterium hold so strongly here. 

He stuck to the shadows, the hems of his long coat near dragging through the black sludge of ice and rain. The town was a ramshackle mishmash of metal houses, often packed one on top the other. Shadows were cast by the structures, rising several homes into the air, towers designed with no order. Here was not the refined stone architecture of London, nor the metropolis of metal that was New Copenhagen. Several time he had to duck down back alleys and change his route at the sight of Magisterium officials dressed in their all-black outfits, automatic guns strapped over their shoulder, each of their daemons fierce and submissive. 

“They’re everywhere, Lee. Since when has the Magisterium been given this presence in Portland??” Lee was slouched against the corrugated steel wall of a first-floor residence when Hester talked, the heavy rain beating down on him, his clothes soaked through, clinging to the shape of his body, lean arms and legs, and a toned, if not muscled, torso. The droplets caught in his moustache and stubble, before dropping to the ground. “We ain’t been here for a while, Hester. We need to find out what happened.” 

“What happened to keeping out of trouble, then?” He suspected that if she had eyebrows then one would have been raised. Instead, she settled for cocking her head. Another laugh, this time more muted, a snigger, than before. “You know you can’t hold me to things like that, Hester. Besides, it isn’t any of my fault if trouble looks for me.” 

Fortunately, he knew where to go for information here. Playfair’s tavern was a metal box, snug in the second layer of a tower on the edge of town. The place was dank and near-empty. A few dock workers sat in the corner, and some ladies of disrepute hung around them, but little else was occurring. Lee sat himself at the bar, wordlessly gesturing for a drink, and paying with the last of his dollars. “What happened to Mackenzie?” The barkeeper was a stranger to him. The regular, Mackenzie, was a stout man with red whiskers, and one eye gone. This man had none of those looks to him, tall and wiry, a pasty and anxious complexion. “Gone. Same as Mr Jameson.” 

Not helpful. He smiled as if it had been. “Gone where?” The barman hesitated. Was that fear? Apprehension? “North, or so I heard. Why are you asking?” His eyes narrowed, and Lee started to wonder if he was asking questions that were best left unsaid. Still, he’d started now. “Oh, no reason. Just owe Mackenzie some money, is all. Finally came in, so I came lookin’.” 

“I would consider your debt repaid, Mr Scoresby.” The voice came from behind, so Lee turned to look over his shoulder. The door swung closed behind the new arrivals. Six Magisterium guards, long, grey jackets protecting them from the chill, their hair shorn short, and their eyes all stern and unwavering. He knew the look. Pious and devout, each one of them, and unflinching in their menace. At their centre stood another. He was dressed in the sombre robes of an official, but with accolades pinned above his right breast, pieces of metal that glinted in the flickering lights of the tavern. The lines of his face were sharp, with high cheekbones, and a straight, slender nose. His dirty blonde hair was swept across his head, greasy from unwashing, and his eyes glinted more than the others, a cunning smile played out on his thin lips. Lee noticed that the prostitutes from before had made a swift exit. No surprise. Theirs was a trade the Magisterium did not view so fondly. 

“Sturrock. I hadn’t expected to see you here. Didn’t think the Magisterium ever came this far west.” Lee put on a smile for the official, but it was all for show. He had seen how merciless this man could be. There was no friendship here. Lucas Sturrock was the grand-grand-grandnephew or cousin to some cardinal a thousand miles away. However removed he was, his life was cushy and full of comfort, but driven by what he would call extreme piety. Lee would call it bloodthirsty ambition. 

“We didn’t, not until a few days ago. My uncle, blessed in all his glory as he is, was shown the will of the Authority himself. That will was me delivering the gift of faith to these lawless heathens. Not all were so accepting of our generosity.” Sturrock stepped closer. Lee could almost smell the hunger wafting off him. Not hunger for food. It was a lust for punishment, for whatever crime the Magisterium had decided that day was the most cardinal of sins. 

The Magisterium guard thinned out. Lee realised why three airships now. Sturrock was, for his flaws, high-ranking enough to warrant the protection. 

“Sounds like your uncle just wanted to get you far away. You sure he ain’t just as sick of your high-fangled monologues as the rest of us?” Lee’s words were met with a growl, not from the youth, but from the lioness who pawed her way from behind him. Sturrock’s daemon, Kythala, but she had more colourful names given her in most drinking holes from here to London itself. 

“Calm, Kythala. I am sure our aeronaut friend simply doesn’t know what he is saying.” Sturrock took a seat on the barstool to Lee’s right. His thin fingers clasped around the tankard that was swiftly offered him. The lioness stayed stood, alert and watchful, her fangs bared. Hester kept her own wary eye on the creature. She could handle her own, the hare, Lee knew that, but not against Kythala. 

Sturrock spoke without looking, instead raising the vessel to his lips, sniffing at the drink before sipping it lightly. “And what brings you to my salvation, Mr Scoresby? Repaying a few coins, like you said, or something else?” His voice darkened at the final three words. Perhaps he worried that Lee was there to derail his grand plans. It wouldn’t be the first time. “Runnin’. Well, flyin’, I s’pose. Flyin’ away from your types.” 

Sturrock’s laugh was restrained, with little joy to it. A simple exhalation, an acknowledgment, accompanied by the same thin smile. “There is no running from ‘my types’, Mr Scoresby. The sword of justice catches all. For some it just waits longer than others.” Did he really believe any of this? It was surely just for show, an act to justify the menace. If he meant it... Then perhaps Lucas Sturrock was madder than Lee had given him credit for. “You escape us because you are our monster, Lee Scoresby. The roguish aeronaut who may steal misbehaving children from their bed and throw them to their deaths from the sky itself. Or feed them to his bear.” Sturrock drank again. Lee’s eyes widened, then narrowed, his nostrils flaring, just for a moment. “A flight of fancy, of course. But effective.” 

“I ain’t a monster. My life is my own. It isn’t for you to use.” Sturrock seemed to ponder on that for a few moments. Lee’s hand instinctively stretched out, stroking Hester between the ears, wanting that warmth, that reassurance. No trouble... Was that what he had said? Yeah right. 

“You’re a murderer, aren’t you? How many? Ten? Twenty? More or less than your father, do you think?” That stung. Lee fought back the urge to fight. He had to. Striking Sturrock was surely a death sentence. Still, when people mentioned his old man it made him want to lash out, like he had done to Lee. How many faces had he seen when he slept? How had they haunted him? 

The travelling helped. He didn’t like to stay in one place for long. He never had. Letting the winds take him wherever they chose helped him escape the monotony of regret, kept him focused on the future. That balloon had saved his life more times than he could count. Best winnings he had ever had, and a life he would not change. No matter what was said to him now. 

“He’s dead, too. You want to taunt me? You’re gonna have to try a lot harder than that.” Lee pushed his stool away from the bar, rising to his feet, and pushing the Stetson down against the flat of his head. His clothes had dried some from the heat of the place, but not enough to be close to comfortable. He was used to worse. That didn’t mean that he hadn’t hoped for better. “Come on, Hester. We are leaving.” 

Sturrock scoffed. “As dramatic as ever, Mr Scoresby. I am not here to arrest you, if that is what worries you.” A sigh escaped Lee’s lips, and he leaned down, his arm rested on the bar, studying the face of the other man. He was poised and unaffected by the attention, just taking more sips of whatever sickly-sweet drink he was swilling. “Then why are you here? Taunts? Threats? That all you got?” 

“Warnings, Mr Scoresby.” Anger flared in the other man, just for a moment, but it was quickly supressed. His lips and cheeks contorted as he visibly forced the beast of rage back down inside him, but soon he was done. “Ask the wrong questions, do the wrong things, and you will end up just like Mr Mackenzie. Going north and never coming back.” The veiled threats were gone, and the cards were laid on the table. Good. Lee preferred it that way. “You used to be a soldier with a marksman’s aim. Now what are you?” 

“You’re right. I’m not a soldier anymore, that’s because I chose not to be.” His head cocked slightly, his eyes squinted, thoughts of his next move crossing his mind. He didn’t want to rile the beast that was Lucas Sturrock. He had seen what the man was capable of. Some of it had been so brutal that calling it butchery would have been understating. “You want to try my aim, though? My shot is as good as it used to be, and I ain’t throwin’ any of them away.” He pulled away, his own threat hanging in the air. Hester took her place by his side, though he didn’t like the odds of her against the lioness, who, despite her human’s nonchalance, was bristling with rage. “I’m here one night, then I’m heading north. Business with the witches. You want no trouble? Let me go.” 

Something he said sent a momentary shock through the young official. It was as if, for just a few seconds, the pretence of a guard was dropped. His shoulders slouched slightly, and the tankard dropped to the counter, landing on its base. The daemon retreated, giving up ground. Then it was gone, and the same air had returned. “Good fortune on your travels then, Mr Scoresby.” 

It was clear then that their conversation was over. Lee made his hasty exit, and didn’t stop walking for a few blocks, nipping in and out of back alleys, just in case they were being followed. Hester kept pace. She always did. Eventually they stopped, finding shelter underneath an overhanging veranda. “Something you said spooked him.” Hester kept her ears alert, waiting for sounds that may give away any pursuers, but her eyes looked up to him. “About us going north, I reckon.” 

He rubbed his hand against his chin, tugging lightly at the lip, fighting a battle in his head that he knew he would lose. “He’s worried we’re gonna find something.” Hester knew what he was thinking instantly, and her response was just as instantaneous, pleading with him in the way only she could. “Nu uh, Lee. You promised me- This one journey with no trouble. You don’t need this- We don’t need to go to war with the Magisterium.” She knew him well enough to know his mind was made up. That wouldn’t stop her trying to protect him. “It ain’t trouble. It’s adventure.” 

The hare scoffed, her ears and nose twitching as she did. “The open skies are adventure. This isn’t, Lee.” Nothing she could say... “You heard what he said about those folks. It ain’t right just to leave them. We head north and look for them. This is the last time, Hester. Promise.” 

“You say that every time, Lee.” She turned her back on him. Angry? Maybe, for now, but not forever. She would cool off soon enough, he knew. He also knew that she would agree with him, when everything had settled. Hester would know what was right. Besides, she was right. He did say it every time. 

But when adventure came calling...

**Author's Note:**

> Merry christmas! This story was, in fact, published on Christmas 2020. Been a terrible year, but we should all try to be thankful for things that make our life somewhat better. So this story is dedicated to Charlue, who is a massive Lee-head (I don't know what the name of his fans are so I made that up), and who has been a shining light in an otherwise dreadful year. I hope you have a great day, and that you enjoyed the story.
> 
> I have been a massive HDM fan for almost my entire life, so writing this, for someone who is a more recent convert, was an absolute joy. More to come, I hope. Certainly feels like there should be. 
> 
> Merry christmas, Charlue! Merry christmas everyone!


End file.
